Absolution

AN: This ties into a large set of fiction that I am working on. The series is called Fighting for a Chance, so this is a little AU.

Absolution

"Oh, just one more time." The woman begged, tugging at his hips.

A shudder coursed down his spine at her touch, he pushed off the bed. The illusion was over; he had done his job, been her distraction and bugged the house as he was ordered. He was not ordered to be her damn bed slave. Sliding off the bed he pulled up his boxers and pants, wincing at a pain in his leg. "I have better things to do." He hissed.

The woman blinked, pulling the sheet to cover her breasts. "Better than what?" Her tone matched his.

"Than fuck you." The man snapped, turning to go. As he passed the door frame he heard the woman recover. A vase hit the wall, along with a trail of cursing.

Reeve pinched the bridge of his nose, then laughed when he realized where he'd picked up the habit.. He then lit a cigarette and took a hard pull of the paper. Looking up at the building he had just come from, he snorted in disgust. There was a time, years ago when he would have just counted his gil and been on his way.

When he became a Turk they were not supposed to be whores. Of course it was expected every once and a while. "Anything for the job" was the first thing Veld and Vincent had taught him. They, however, would not have allowed the Turks to become this. Reeve smashed a cigarette under his boot, he'd been a whore once already, and it left a much better taste in his mouth. At least when he was a whore he could be honest.

His apartment back at the ShinRa building felt cold, even when he turned the heat up. The shower he took failed to do anything but wash the heady sent of woman off of his skin, remove the lipstick from his stomach and neck. Reeve rested his head against the shower wall, under the spout, letting the steam roll off his back and washing out scratches he hadn't realized where there till the water struck them.

When he stepped out of the shower and looked at his reflection he scowled. Not less than an hour before this Reeve thought he wanted to just spend the night alone, tinkering with something. But now, towel around his waist and steam curling off his shoulders, he couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't want to be alone.

At least not alone in the ShinRa building.

The elevator smelled like Reeve had upon his entrance, making his lip curl in disgust. "God, I am starting to look like you." He muttered to his reflection, since the scowling face followed him from his apartment to the glass walls of the elevator. Maybe it was just what Turk leaders ended up doing, he wondered and that made a part of his stomach jump again.

He knew where he was going. Reeve was feeling nostalgic and there was only one place he could go in this mood.

The cemetery.

There was no place to bury the dead in the earth, instead, there were walls of tombs that stretched up as tall as a one story building. Every nameplate was just large enough for one body; some didn't have even the room for the name of the deceased. Those were numbered. As depressing as the setting was, it was at least some comfort above what happened to the dead in the slums. There was no markation at all on the incinerator.

Passing into the D's, Reeve looked to his left, at a nameplate that was level with his shoulder "V. Dragoon 23". This one always made him smile. "I wonder if you ever bothered coming here, Veld." Reeve crossed his arms and turned to face the plate. "You're the type who would." Closing his eyes, Reeve tilted his head up. He knew that Veld was not dead, at least not physically. Losing Vincent had been the blow, though.

Maybe they were all just dead men walking.

"I'd call you, Velly, but you'd want to know how your kids are doing, and I can't bring myself to tell you that." Opening his eyes, Reeve looked at the nameplate again. Veld would find Reeve when he needed him, after all, they had promises to keep.

He didn't look up as he walked from Veld's nameplate to the V's. Reeve knew the way by now. He stopped about a fifth of the way down the row, taking a moment to kneel and biting back the sound he wanted to make for his aching knee. There was only one Vincent, "VVValentine".

Giving up on kneeling, Reeve flopped down against the wall, looking down at the nameplate. "Goddamn I miss you, Vin." Reeve had replayed that night in his head a million times, every conceivable thing, however, they had done. Someone had to be sacrificed, and it was Vincent's family. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way. "Still looking for Renald. Promise when I find him I'll keep him out of too much trouble. Velly's looking too."

He peered closer to the nameplate; someone had been here before him. Tonight it seemed. The dust was smudged as though someone had traced the name with a fingertip.

For having a bad knee, Reeve gained his feet quickly and drew his gun. Two other people would have been at that nameplate. At least, he only knew of two who should be. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and a surge of Turk protectiveness followed it. He pulled back on the top of the weapon, clicking the safety free, then walked down to the other end of the walls.

There was no one. Without looking, Reeve clicked the safety back on the weapon and slid it back under his shirt and tucked into his pants at the small of his back. He noted that the main gate to the church itself was opened. He was curious then, and made his way to the little building.

The door gave way with ease, telling of the worshipers that sat within two or three times a week. For a second, Reeve closed his eyes and wondered about that, a normal life, sitting through the mass, waiting at the confessional booth. He wondered what normal people confessed about.

"Well, I don't know if I'm surprised or not to see you here." The voice came from his left, a shadowy area near a pillar.

Once again his gun was brushed by his hand. In the same instant his instinct pushed him, his knowledge stopped it. This person wasn't a threat to him. He looked up at the cross, polished gold leaf, standing out as a beacon amidst the cherry pews. Without looking at the speaker, Reeve sighed. "As surprised as I am at myself I suppose. You came to talk to them too?"

Movement, and then the speaker came forward. In the dim light, fine details of a down turned mouth and worn eyes drew his attention. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, her weight casually resting on one hip. "Sometimes I feel like he's still alive, and I have to come down here to convince myself I'm not just wishing." She bit her lip. "Doesn't it seem like things were different when they were around?"

Reeve gritted his teeth. Veld and Vincent would have never allowed either he or Scarlet to become the whores they had in the aftermath of the Turk dissention. They had been the spirit and the backbone of the Turks. Reeve was no hero, he wasn't an expressly brave man, he would be the first to admit, he was afraid not to do what he was told. "They were Scarlet, very different." He fidgeted. It was as if he could still smell that woman, her sent ran through his hair, down his chest and centered again inside his pants line.

"Em?" She never called him Reeve, of all the people in ShinRa, she seemed to be the only one who remembered his name. "Why did you come out here tonight?"

His hand gripped the pew, for lack of something to do. "Do you ever just feel… dirty?"

She looked away. "All the time." She made no other movement, but her knuckles were suddenly a little whiter, her stance a little stiffer. "Me, too." She shifted, drawing his eyes back to her form. Tonight, she wore a finely-tailored black suit, one that had been 'recommended' to her by the President. The closely-fitted jacket revealed a hint of black lace beneath it whenever she moved. He remembered when her uniform had started to change; from the cut of the normal Turk suit into more and more revealing things until she was taken out of the program entirely. Now it was hardly uncommon to see her walking the halls of the tower, dressed in things more appropriate for a cocktail party or even a bedroom. What she wore now was perhaps her least-risqué clothing.

But she kept her mouth shut. Veld's "disappearance" and Vincent's death had been an outright warning to the remaining Turks: keep your heads down, obey orders, or else. With ShinRa's power and willingness to do anything to keep himself ahead, no one was willing to push the envelope.

She finally looked at him, hugging her arms. "I keep thinking...I'm going to wake up. And I never do."

The sudden urge to find the President and shove his death penalty down the man's throat until the clip was empty hit him. But -the king is dead, long live the king- nothing would change. He looked back to her as she stood in front of the confessional. What he did next, maybe he needed release, maybe he needed comfort, he needed her.

He felt the rough wood of the confessional smack loudly beneath his calloused hands. Her mouth tasted like alcohol and smoke. He needed it, pressing her more between himself and the booth. Scarlet's body was warm, soft in comparison to the wood beneath his hands. His nails dug into the confessional.

There was no hesitation on Scarlet's part. Before his mouth fully covered hers she had her hands over his collar pulling him closer. One of his hands traveled down her side, lingering against the curve of her breast before sliding to her hip, around her back and lower. Her leg traveled up to his hip, her knee resting against him, drawing his other hand from the booth to feel her skin from under the thin fabric. Her mouth opened to his, a pleading noise found its way out in between them.

He forgot the woman's bed he was in less then an hour or so before, he didn't care whose bed she had been in at that time. All that mattered to him was that he had her now, and he knew her, he knew her name, he knew Scarlet, the woman that cried when her cat died, the woman that liked to have cookies and milk and read.

Her hands slid over his shoulders and under his jacket, pushing down against his shoulders. He backed up for a second before he pushed forward again, catching her bottom lip in his teeth for a second before giving himself enough space to throw the item to the floor.

His arm looped around her waist again, yanking their hips together. His elbow barked against the wood and he kissed her again. Scarlet yanked his belt loose, pulling it roughly loose from the front of his pants. When Reeve's mouth left hers to travel down her neck she gasped. "Oh god, Em…"

Was she the only person who knew his name? It didn't matter; she was the person that he wanted to know him.

The button of her jacket snapped off, plinking onto a pew as Reeve tore the article from her shoulders. He kissed lower, hand grasping along the back of her bra and then around to the front. His hand lingered over the lace, thumb running along the top in-between it and her skin before snapping the clasp loose.

His hand slid along her, cupping her breast while his thumb rubbed a circle against the nipple. He growled into her neck, mouth sliding to her other breast and tongue making the same motion as his thumb.

One of Scarlet's hands fisted in his hair, the other pulled the button of his jeans loose, pulling down on his zipper.

He groaned when her fingers brushed against him through his boxers and pulled back, throwing his shirt over his head. Scarlet's slacks came loose with a quick, ripping motion and pooled around her ankles. At the same time they kicked their pants aside. Scarlet's bra was flung over her shoulder, landing on top of the booth.

They crashed against the side of the booth again. Scarlet's mouth bit at his neck, her chest pressed against his. Her skin was soft; he couldn't help running his hands up and down her sides, one finally resting at the back of her head and the slid down her belly, rubbing through the thin thong.

The hand at the back of her head moved, cupping her face, following down her side and pulled at her thigh, hiking it up over his hip. Stepping closer Reeve moved his other hand to the small of Scarlet's back and pressed against her.

Resting his head on the booth a wordless sound worked its way loose from his throat. He could smell her; feel her through the fabric that was growing damp. The leg at his hip curled and pulled him off balance. They crashed to the floor, Scarlet straddling his hips.

She rocked against him, biting his neck while he pulled at the damned fabric in his way. Sliding to the side for a second, they both removed their underwear and Reeve pulled Scarlet down around him, leaning his shoulders back against the booth.

His fingers dug into her hips, mouth moving from her chest to her neck and back before Scarlet's hands covered his wrists and hauled up, pinning his arms above his head. A shocked protest left his mouth into hers at being restrained, but he didn't fight it.

She bit down at his neck then and Reeve surged forward, rolling her beneath him and catching her wrists in one hand above her head. Rising to his knees, Reeve let his other hand travel over Scarlet again before settling on her hip and thrusting forward.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, yelling loudly into his mouth. She tensed under him, shaking.

Reeve let go of her wrists then, falling to his elbows and letting go. They held tense for a second together before breathing again, muscles relaxing and Scarlet's legs sliding to the floor.

He touched his forehead to hers and gasped for breath. For the first time in a long time, he remembered Emerson Reeve, not Reeve the Turk.

Reaching down he cupped his hand against her cheek. His hand lingered on her face; she didn't need him to tell her she was beautiful on the outside. She knew that much. "Scarlet, I love you."

She smiled, pulling him closer. "I don’t know what I would do without you Em."

"Let's just not worry about things like that?"

~Fin